


Devoured

by prettyvillain



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Creampie, F/F, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, Hypnotism, Improper use of aether, M/M, Multi, POV First Person, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, WOL is of an ambiguous gender, kind of... but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyvillain/pseuds/prettyvillain
Summary: "Your mind has always felt like a magnet for destruction, whether it spread from your fingertips or ripped you apart from the inside. You are a beast born to ruin, masquerading as a hero."A few feverish dreams lead the Warrior of Light to a place they never imagined going to, but one they ultimately will never want to leave. Being seduced to the dark side is... kinda hot.
Relationships: Ascian Characters/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light/Zodiark (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Devoured

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a Post-Shadowbringers world in mind. Aether might not work this way, but it sure is fun to write. The Warrior of Light here has no specified gender so the reader can self-insert, but this was written with the taller and more humanoid races in mind.

Your mind has always felt like a _magnet for destruction_ , whether it spread from your fingertips or ripped you apart from the inside. You are a beast born to ruin, masquerading as a hero. 

Nightmares and daydreams snare your attention from a world you have somehow become obligated to save. Until the next one reaches for you, of course. Then the next. And the next. Perhaps fatigue has finally seized you and is attempting to pull you under, but when you wake you do your best to make do with what you can. 

Coping, that’s what you decide to call it. 

But somewhere in the fevered chaos of your dreams, you find yourself committing sin after sin, imagining yourself in worlds where the tables are turned and your legacy is not exactly so grand. Of course, you aren’t ignorant to the blood on your hands. 

Chaos is catching, however, and whereas once the mere concept of shadows and disorder frightened you, there are some aspects of peace to it now. Thanks to the dreams. Dreams of violet and crimson; pulsating aether-infused clouds wafting about in your haziness reminding you that you can be so much more.

More recently you have dreamt of such carnal pleasures. You feel almost too ashamed to acknowledge them once you bolt awake with sweat beading your forehead like a crown of guilt. Your senses piqued and those sensitive parts of your scarred body alive with feeling.

Thrown to the wildness of passion you are an object of lust in these fantasies and the darkness is your release. How it throbs and curves and against you, almost this breathing and living thing as it mangles itself with your light and pushes deep inside of you.

What it is exactly you aren’t quite sure of, but in your sleep you tense and sigh as it pleasures you. As it worms its way between your thighs and swells against those constricting walls.

Then your eyes snap awake. The light of your lamp leaves golden streaks across your skin.

You barely get time alone. Funny considering how alone you often feel, that you are nearly always surrounded by others. The scions have long protected your back, have kept you rooted to the soil to prevent you from creeping out of reach, but tonight you are a wandering vine loose and wild. 

You curl around corners, your eyes adjusting to the darkness as you follow where your instinct and yearning for the unknown leads you. Never a good guide, of course. But something more is out there for you, almost seducing you to it. You sense it, like an old and familiar smell luring you home. But nothing about this journey is comforting. 

It is the cold night air of Thanalan which snaps you back to reality. Reminding you of where you are. But not where you are going. Dirt and wild animals leave their scents upon the wind but the breaths you take are deep, until specks of sand catch upon the dryness of your throat. 

**Why here…**

Through the darkness, that freckled sky of stars is your only light, a cave with a gaping mouth seems to call to you. You know from your adventures that shelter from the raw landscape of the desert is a sanctuary and your feet move before you remember willing them to. 

There is nothing to sway you from your path. 

No monsters lunge at you from the darkness and no distant wailing of enemies on the horizon of dunes. When you reach the cave, the stone is oddly warm from the day of heat and you venture in. As expected, it’s far more comfortable inside than out.

But where you assumed there to be an endless expanse of darkness, you find a pulsating hub of jittering purples; ruby red tears swirling before you as if you’d stood up too fast and your vision had begun to swim. But it was real. You felt that aether, that wavering rip of reality. 

You’ve felt this before. 

A portal. 

Trouble loves to come and go through such things.

You’re no fool, but you are foolish in this moment; continuing to wander and approaching the portal. You reach out and fingertips dance along the thin space between you and aether. 

_“Come…”_

It’s not a voice exactly, but a suggestion. The back of your mind feels hollow but the idea is so tempting you just might obey.

“I’ve waited for you, for _our meeting_.”

Should you? But it’s hard to resist and you really do want to go… 

Who is it that speaks to you? Who is reaching out from beyond this reality to summon you to their side? There’s an anxiety spreading within your chest seeking to swallow you whole, but you’re almost leaning into that portal headfirst now. 

After a few moments of paralysed curiosity, your fingers breach the aetherial tear and you fall from this world and slide into the next.

As soon as your body passes through the gate you are aware that you really have entered a different world entirely. Gone is the comfortable warmth of the cave from your skin, instead a foreign coldness spreads across whatever flesh you bare. 

There is a mixture of light; the sky above a deep purple whilst the crystal-like floor beneath your feet is a blend of cracked ruby and mauve. You recognise these colours, shades of Ascian discourse. 

But you aren’t afraid. This has long since become a familiar feeling, to be surrounded by this sort of aether. To be thrust into a situation where you are an Ascian’s plaything. You assumed it was one of them which called out to you, but you can’t say for sure you know their name. 

Elidibus’s tones have echoed in your mind far too often for you mistake any other voice for his.

You turn on your heel as if to gauge the environment to the best of your ability. The portal home still remains, a crackling tear in the landscape as wisps of magic spark from its center. But you have no intention of leaving. You’re so curious, so intrigued. That hungry desire to see what calls to you.

”Show yourself to me.”

You are surprised by the sound of your voice, as if you spoke without meaning to. Fear and excitement meet within the tone and you do sound somewhat afraid, even if you don’t quite look it yet. A step forward and finally something in this empty space responds.

Aether-charged pressure swells around you, swaggering you where you stand and you reach for a weapon that isn’t there. So unlike you to walk into the lion’s den unprepared, but you’re still not easy prey. Your eyes search for a figure, for familiar robes and masks, but what approaches you is something else entirely.

Shadows fall beneath your feet, seemingly cast from nothing. They wrap around your ankles and creep along the flesh of your legs, trailing beneath your clothing. It feels like warm air almost as if someone is blowing against you when it moves, not quite physical but still enough to draw a reaction from you.

“What do you want from me?”

But you know. You’ve always known. 

A laugh echoes in your mind, a soft and deep clutter of a chuckle pressed against the shell of your ear. Shivers dance tenderly along your spine. 

_“Hero of light, at last we meet… At last I can look upon you.”_

The feeling of some distant voice pressing words into your skull is not entirely unfamiliar. You are reminded of how the Exarch called to you from the First, but then also of Hydaelyn’s echoed strength, the power to banish darkness. 

Perhaps you do know after all. 

There’s no reason to fight the invasiveness of the aether-made shadows, not even when they seem to roam across your entire body still beneath your clothes. You feel heat against your neck, the expanse of skin above your thighs, the small of your back.

A harsh exhale parts your lips. There’s magnetism here, keeping you rooted to the spot to save you from tumbling back into that portal. Not that you want to leave. No, your senses are being pushed and pulled from every direction and it’s a sensation you rarely feel. So powerful, there are fewer physical feats that can render you _so_ helpless.

Regarded often as something untouchable it can feel quite relieving to be finally **touched,** even when it is done in this abstract way. These aren’t fingers tracing along your chest, but it still feels pleasant nevertheless. Enough to warm pools within your body, excitement tingling within the nerves.

Your head turns, still desperate to find some physical form with which to pair that deep, wandering voice. Adjusting to the darkness beyond the violet-shaded area you stand in, you think you can make out shapes of some kind.

They move and for a moment you do feel a pang of worry, as the forms of robed Ascians move into view; black boots clicking against the floor as they slowly approach. But you aren’t afraid of death, or even being harmed. 

What you fear is the uncertainty of it all and perhaps that this view echoes those from your most feverish of dreams. 

Heat subsides from your skin, granting you permission to move. Still without a weapon you would perhaps find it difficult to fend all of these approaching Ascians off. They come to a halt in a sort of circle around you and the silence is deafening. 

“Why now?” You ask the voice, not addressing the crowd around you.

_“You are necessary.”_

That hardly answered the question. But before you can retort gloved hands seize you. At first you resist but the Ascian’s remain tight with their grip. 

_“Save your strength, hero. You have proved worthy. You knew this day would come, you have dreamt of it for so long. I will grant you your strength, your peace.“_

The skin of your cheeks burn with embarrassment despite it all, as there’s but one thing you know the words to reference. You feel it too, that familiar sensation of darkness prying at you in all of your shame, in all of your vulnerability. And you crave it. 

Your resistances fall and sharp clawed gloves trace against your skin, trailing lines to your cheek as lips press against your neck. There’s perhaps five of these Ascians here, but it feels like so much more with how many hands begin peeling away at your clothing.

With your chest bare, one of the half-masked strangers begins to press teeth against one of your breasts and teases a bite to your nipple. Already so tense, a soft sound of pleasure vibrates from your throat.

Another Ascian has their gloved fingers woven within your hair. The one beside them feeds their fingers between your legs and strokes at the sensitive skin. The rest take their turns kissing you, raw and hurried, not at all soft and sweet. _Desperate_. 

There are many things you wish you could ask but words fail you as your breath is stolen again and again, through the meeting of lips against your lips and then the sensation of gloved hands invading your flesh. 

You feel much like an offering half-covered in darkness as Zodiark’s followers descend upon you. A body presented to be devoured, but it is your mind which becomes swallowed first by the darkness.

Every touch feels inspired, electric almost, as sharp pains twin with sweet spots of pleasure. There _are_ bare fingers in all of this, for which you are thankful, and they press against your body keenly, teasing to dip inside.

It’s maddening how already so addicted you have become, how deprived you feel when you are given a chance to breathe. Lips soaked, they part hungrily for the next invasive kiss and you are never left wanting for long. 

You are dined upon again and again and with every kiss you feel yourself slipping into deprivation. As if hypnotised you cannot imagine wanting anything else beyond the dark pleasure here.

_“Please…”_ A beg hangs from your tongue and you don’t remember placing it there. _“Please... “_

What you ask for isn’t entirely certain. Are you asking for more of those fingers pushing inside of you? More teeth against your flesh to mark you claimed and captured? Perhaps you want flesh to bite into yourself? 

No, He knows what you desire, what you crave.

He speaks to you again and his voice is musical with entertainment, amusement clearly heard through his tone.

_“Submit yourself. Throw yourself to the mercy of this familiar darkness.”_

You know it to be certain now. You are Zodiark’s plaything here, in the space between your world and what should be theirs. Sundered perhaps, but the allure is ever present. 

Without so much as giving it a second thought, you allow Him to enter your mind, to swarm your thoughts with every sinful ritual He deems worthy of you. This hero of light, except swollen and seeping with darkness. _His_ darkness.

For as long as you have held your weapon, you have danced this dangerous tango between light and dark. You have bathed in light, had it almost **consume** you entirely in fact when it sought to rip you into something new and demonic. And now it seems you’re leaning back in the entirely opposite direction; fingertips dipping into the darkness as you allow it to wash over you.

Always lured to power, to strength. You cannot deny it, especially not here where darkness nips at your bare flesh and traces sharp, blood-beaded lines against the curve of your neck. _You’re a chaser of storms._

In that hollowing scape of your mind you can hear Him laughing at you. 

How and why Zodiark is here at all is a question which does flow in and out of your consciousness, but you’re far too distracted to linger in the fear of it all. What this means for the Source. What this means for your allies. 

But their faces fade from your mind as one of Zodiark’s enthralled feeds two of their gloved fingers between your lips, silencing your soft moans of pleasure. The sharp, pointed tip presses against your tongue and you tighten your lips around it, your eyes falling closed.

This feels as much like a coronation as it does a _sacrifice_ with you as its centerpiece. So used to the eyes of many boring into you it feels almost embarrassing to not see beyond the crimson curves of these Ascian masks and into the faces behind them. 

Impressions of claws into your exposed flesh mark you as a claimed artefact in the violet glow, but you’re nowhere near finished with. That creeping sensation of warmth has returned and this time it feels much more physical, much more prominent. 

One of the Ascians curls a hand around your throat and, muffled by the fingers still in your mouth, you choke quietly. It isn’t going to kill you. Where there should be fear, there is only anticipation. 

There is no denying that this is the will of their god, that this is an act that must occur, but then how are you falling so very deep into this trance? You, this fixture of greatness, are tripping and stumbling blindly into that dark embrace of His. 

You can’t decide which is worse, the fact that you are quite aware of your mind somehow melting into compliance, or the sinful truth that perhaps you have always been curious enough to **want** this.

Thoughts are plucked from your mind as gently as weeds from the soil however, as a new sensation snares your attention. Fingers, naked and bare as you, lathered and soft roam the tight heat you offer. Prying you open.

You don’t want to retaliate, not when you crave nothing more than these very moments of contact. In fact, you’re _relieved_. Relieved when fingers dip and roam inside of you.

You know how tight you must feel, how tense and trembling you are in the arms of all of these unnamed, faceless strangers. They do not complain. In and out the fingers push, two breaching whatever tightness you fear you possess, until you are loose and pliant, until you are rocking against the sensation with what little strength you have.

A soft hum vibrates against the digits in your mouth and saliva connects fingertips to sore lips when they are removed. “More…” You plead with Him, seeking Him out from behind closed eyes.

_“Please…”_

Whether these are spoken words or simply echoed within your mind, it does not matter. You pray in rushed and desperate incantations of depravity, your back arching as two fingers become three and your body curls in pleasure.

His will manifests in these hungry souls set to devour you and you embrace every touch of it, even when a pair of teeth sink a little harder than before against your nipple and cause you to shiver. 

Your back meets something cold and hard, something you assume to be a rock or shard of some kind. You don’t care specifically, only now pleased that the weight of your body is gone and you can simply exist spread-legged and keen, set to be devoured.

And dine they do, cloaked figures moving to adjust before one takes you to their lips and drinks your dribbling release as if you are a golden chalice oozing with elixir. Their tongue laps at you almost sweetly before their face and mask are flush against your skin. 

You cry out so loudly that your ears ring long after your lips fall lax with silence.

Surprisingly gentle caresses frame where your hair tumbles erratically against your face. Tender brushes of an almost foreign affection which you lean into, like an animal starved of such kindness in the almost violent passion of this ritual. 

There’s no hatred here, no cruelty. His will does not allow it, not in the way you imagined. You had pictured almost a barbaric world touched by Zodiark, though you know that isn’t the case. But you wonder what kind of entity demands sacrifice at all. 

As wet fingers and tongues relish your heated form, tasting your drooling cum and the salt of your kisses, you feel Him there. As if observing you being prepared to his liking. A delicious bounty of heroism and pain, served bare and naked before Him. Although He has no eyes, you know He is staring at your vulnerability, at your weaknesses.

You have never imagined sex to be a performance, but you feel inclined to present yourself in this moment. You feel you owe it somehow to return the seduction. 

**I submit.**

Spoken within the mind but spoken nonetheless. He hears you and soon after you hear the same soft laughter from before, a chuckle which leaves you feeling both flushed with shame but electric with intrigue. 

He says nothing in reply and somehow you feel lost because of it. You want Him to speak more, to indulge you in His blessing, to surround you in prayer and love. You know that you deserve it, that you might break apart unless He does offer something more than teasing touches via His worshippers. 

Dawn breaks within your mind -- this is your _tempering._

Light bleeds back into your vision as your eyes re-open. Along the silhouettes of Zodarik’s enthralled, your gaze wanders lost and adrift as if you barely register them at all as separate beings. Rather, a collective want and need.

Your only reaction comes when sensations between your thighs ignite as you are finally _fucked_ ; hands keeping your legs apart as one of the Ascians begins pushing deep inside of you. Relaxed and pliant, you roll back your head against the stone.

“Yes… _yes_ …” 

From your lips tumble a symphony of thanks and prayer; mumbled encouragements that you want it _deeper, harder, faster_. More of that delicious sensation as spare hands roam to pluck at your sensitive parts. 

Nubs between thumbs and forefingers, glistening arousal smothered against your already flushed skin. You moan pathetically, _beautifully_. The noises are natural and creak from the back of your throat. 

Below, the cock stretches you again and again. Every withdrawal paired with a sharp and heavier thrust back inside causing your entire body to shake. What began as a softer and more gentle pace quickly becomes a fevered rush of them pushing in and out of you at an almost reckless speed.

Erratic and seemingly feral in a desperate and maddening rush. 

The tightness of your entrance clings to them and you hear Zodiark’s mental mocking of you as you are rutted into. How tight yet willing you are, how divine you feel inside. All of this heat and pleasure exactly how they imagined you. Exactly how He _liked_ you. 

Wandering hands were seized as a pair of Ascian’s forced your fingers beneath their robes. You roam willingly until one hand cups against an exposed and needy clit and the other wraps tight around another stiff erection. 

The Ascians themselves grumble low and melodic with your movements, softer moans than yours emerging from the group as your trembling hands attempt to return the same pleasure you are dealt.

Another stands behind you, gently brushing hair from your eyes before they trace your lips open. You nod and part wide to make way for a cock there too; larger than you anticipated but still you are so willing. 

The movements are somehow synced with one another as your lips are forced to stretch and your throat receives a treatment akin to your offered hole. Cum already dribbles between your thighs, from the cock pushing into you or from you yourself you do not know. 

Fondling fingers squeeze your nipples tight and toy with them as you are fucked open. Zodiark, from the depths of your fast-emptying mind, murmurs how well you will serve Him like this. How greatness is merely blooming and that you have so much more to offer. 

No longer able to cry out, you moan around the cock in your mouth causing it to push in faster, _deeper_. Spluttering, you do your best not to gag, but that doesn’t seem to sway the Ascian at all from bucking their hips sharper and shoving themselves as far down your throat as they can.

There is no warning given when the first Ascian finally cums, when they shove themselves as deep inside of your entrance as they can until their cock spurts warm release into you. You feel it swell inside, seemingly impossibly deep, as it fills you. 

They remain buried to the hilt inside of you until every drop of their cum is drained inside, withdrawing only to watch as it dribbles from you gently. But that empty feeling does not last long.

Another soon takes their place and you choke around the cock in your mouth as this next intrusion feels so much larger than the last. They keep the previous load inside as they fuck into you harder and faster, spurring the Ascian in your mouth to do the same.

You continue serving the two at your sides; two fingers already pumping into a soft, warm pussy to your left and your entire grip squeezing around a leaking cock to your right, but your movements are sloppy and lacklustre. 

It’s easy to tell when they cum however, as release spills along your fist and the insides of the other tighten suddenly around your fingers, pulsing as they seep dampness along your knuckles. Tongues lick your digits clean, swirling around your fingertips as you resume your former lax status. Merely a vessel for darkness and the pleasure bound to it, with each buck against your jaw and every deep push inside.

Release spills within your throat and you do your best to swallow around the cock still probing deep into your throat; warm, salty texture flooding your tongue before rolling down into you. 

There’s far too much to swallow at first and it overflows your swollen mouth once the Ascian moves aside, that aforementioned elixir dribbling between lips gasping for breath as their cup overflows.

There’s reassurance echoed in your mind and while sometime ago you might have found the voice patronising, it is His calmness which soothes your trembling form, which sees you lap up whatever drools from your mouth. How good and obedient you have become. How well-suited to the darkness you truly are.

All that remains is the larger cock still fucking you loose. Wet, filthy sounds with every collision of your hole against the base of their cock would usually be so shameful to your ears, but you revel in it now. 

You feel adored. _Craved_. 

An object adorned with jewels and gems, but you are littered with beads of sweat and trailing smears of cum, painting your fingers glossy and your lips shiny with dewy release. And you have never felt so god-like in your life. 

_Embrace me, embrace darkness…_

No longer are they His words, but a frail version of your own voice ricocheting about the emptying corners of your mind.

Foggy with pleasure, you cum and your lips fall open in silent screams merely allowing your body to shake. Your toes curl and you buck into the Ascian still driving deep into your core, still keeping your legs prised apart as they use your hole again and again.

Even when they finally chase their own release, they do not stop fucking you. Their cock presses so deep inside that your voice returns and you squeal as they embed themselves within you and ooze cum into the pits of you.

Into the darkest depths, where you find yourself comfortably pleased, heavenly and drunk on pleasure. 

There’s so much of it, so much cum that when they pull free of you it cannot remain inside. It seeps and runs free of your gaping hole. There’s so much of it that you don’t feel empty at all, despite the lack of something for your body to squeeze tight around. 

You expect, almost, for there to be _more_. Perhaps two cocks returning to feed more of their cum into you, more to make use of parts they scarcely brushed against. It’s a craving you cannot explain, cannot place into words, but your empty hole tenses at the thought of it. 

But the Ascians drift back and away, out of your vision. 

Too frail to move beyond twisting your head, you are unable to see where exactly they go but you know they do not leave you. Their presence is alarmingly noticeable to you, as if some connection has formed in the union of your body and theirs.

Without really guiding them there, your fingers chase the streaks of cum drooling from your hole and you push it back inside; two digits serving as a plug when you begin to finger where their cocks had pulsated inside of you. 

It’s addicting, keeping all of this darkness within. 

Nothing tempts you to leave this place. Names melt from your mind as your spare hand traces the grooves left behind from Ascian claws. Faces merge into spots of violet and crimson when your eyes fall closed and the darkness of that vision swallows you. You feel Him here, inside. Around you. 

Zodiark’s claim over you drools from between your legs, down your chin and smearing the flesh of your neck. You desire more of it, crave more of it. Whether it be darkness or the seed of it, you yearn for it to bloom within you. 

Wherever you are now, you are home. 

**Author's Note:**

> A requested piece. 
> 
> Please check out [my twitter](https://twitter.com/_prettyvillain) for details on my writing if you would like to see something specific. Let me know what you think of this one, and thank you to the requester it was very fun to write!


End file.
